Longing...

Last night I saw a movie. It was the second time for this particular movie but it didn't get any better. It's poorly made and the acting is mostly horrendous with a few bright spots that do not unfortunately manage to salvage it. I wasn't watching it for the acting though, I was watching it for the content. I was watching it because I wanted to feel part of it.

I've written before about my love/hate relationship with the book Story of O. On my other blog, in the list of books you'll note that I recently read the sequel, Return to the Chateau. Don't bother picking it up, it's not worth the hour or two you'd spend leafing through it. Story of O is intriguing, puzzling, infuriating, and ultimately unfulfilling, but it's still worth reading. Return to the Chateau is none of those things. Instead, it's a shining example of why "quit while you're ahead" is such an enduring phrase.

I just cannot seem to reconcile myself with the lack of well-written books on the subject of BDSM and D/s specifically. Story of O, for all its failings, is beautifully written and I only regret that I'm unable to read it in the original. But it's the exception rather than the rule and I've lost count of how many books I've picked up and forced myself to slog through only to find that my original assessment was correct and they weren't worth reading. So why do I keep trying?

To say that I'm a masochist would be too simple of an explanation and it would also be wrong. I may be something of a masochist when it comes to physical pain, but not when it comes to reading badly written books. That's not masochism, it's an exercise in boredom and frustration.

I keep trying because I haven't lost hope of finding a book that combines both beautiful language and an engaging and believable story. I long for a story that I can read and relate to. One that can excite and touch me. What I wouldn't give for a story that inflames the senses and quickens the breathing. A story that makes you want to recreate the words in real life.

I long to find a book that speaks to me but instead I keep coming across crippled stories. They seduce me with a lovely and engaging premise as a skeleton but the body is so grotesque and misshapen, one loses sight of what's underneath.

Reading these novels and stories, all I can think is, "can it really be this bad?" and often I will find myself flipping back to the cover, to the brief snippet of the skeleton that deceived me into buying the book. Most of the time, I want to forget what I read; to flush the terrible writing from my mind and start again with just the snippet and the hope of something good to come, but it's no use. Some of the worst ones stay with me the longest and then I wonder, "could I have done better?"

Perhaps one of these days I'll do it... one of these days, I'll take the snippet and create my own body on that lovely and engaging skeleton.